The Goldberg Variations: The Instrument

There's little question that the Goldberg Variations were written for a French double harpsichord, that is, one having two manuals.  Both the range (going down to the G two octaves and a fourth below middle C) and the instructions about using one or two keyboards make that reasonably clear.

Pianists, however, have appropriated them, exactly as they've done with Bach's other keyboard works.  In the early to mid 18th century the distinctions between the repertoire for the harpsichord, clavichord, organ, early fortepiano, and so on weren't set in stone, and a player could play pretty much any keyboard piece on any keyboard instrument on which it was possible to play it.  This could include some tasteful editing and arranging if necessary.  I suspect, however, that the interest of some pianists in this work is much more tied to the fancy hand-crossing and the opportunities for virtuoso display provided by some of the variations.

There have been a number of arrangements and transcriptions made of the Variations, for organ, string trio, recorder consort, and saxophone quartet among others.

So, for my project, I'll be recording the Goldberg Variations on ... a Yamaha DGX-505 keyboard.  This is an old keyboard, top of the line in its day, with spring-loaded keys, and lots of features that don't interest me.  It has many voices, and I ignore most of them.  Its piano sound is only an approximation of an acoustic piano, of course, but I still like it, and for this project it's the only voice I will use.  I don't like the harpsichord voice.  Yamaha never forgets they are making musical instruments, and one result is a keyboard I can use, even twenty or thirty years after it was made, without being constantly distracted by its shortcomings.  I have done some recordings (not of the Goldbergs) using the organ voices, and I've played through a variation or two using the harp voice.

The spring-loaded keys present a challenge.  They demand a different approach to technique than a standard piano action.  A standard piano action requires more force to press a key down than to hold it.  Spring-loaded keys, however, take much more energy to hold down a key.  This can lead to injury when holding a note with one of the little fingers while playing something else with the same hand.  So far, I've been able to get the results I was hoping for; we'll see how that holds up as the project goes along.

One advantage of a digital keyboard for home recording is the total lack of room noise.  No key clicks, creakings of the chair, or swear words from the keyboardist need interrupt.  In addition, there's no need to be concerned about housemates who might be disturbed by early-morning recording sessions: the headphones keep the sound right where it belongs.

Recording on a digital keyboard does dictate some artistic choices.  For instance, every trill has to be measured, because you will clearly hear every repetition, whether you like it or not.  When your hand has to jump from one place to another, on time is late; you have to be in position before it's time to play the note, because otherwise you may get an unwanted accent.  Accuracy matters; a piano can be somewhat forgiving of a finger that hits two keys at once, as long as only the right one sounds.  On this digital instrument, forget it: if you touch a key, you will probably get a sound.  There's less margin for error.

While there is a pedal that can be used with this keyboard, it's basically a foot switch, and it tends to move around too easily.  I don't use it.  That calls for some careful thought about articulation, and taking some hints from my harpsichordist friends, because there's simply no way to play some of the legatos many pianists like.  This means sometimes a note won't be held its full value, and often the final note of a tie will be replaced with a rest.  That also helps protect the little fingers from the chance of injury mentioned above. 

To date, I have at least one recording made of each variation from 16 through 30.  Variation 16 poses some special issues; maybe I'll write about them later.  I've been working backwards through the set to help build the ability to play Variation 28 after having gone through all of the other ones.  For now, I'm recording them without repeats.  Once I have a complete recording of the whole set, I'll think about whether to go back and do one with the repeats taken.

Progress.

The Goldberg Variations: Recording

This post is mainly about (primitive) recording technology.  Professional recording technicians will certainly cringe; I'll make a long story short, and say there are good reasons to pay for a studio and an expert engineer if you have the money.  If you don't, my experience might interest you.

I take a very practical view of recording technology.  Ever since I found, in an issue of Maximum Rock & Roll many years ago, a statement to the effect that bands have released CDs which were recorded using the Voice Recorder on Windows(tm), I've been intrigued by the possibilities.  Today, I'm using Audacity under Linux Mint; while there are other options available, this is the easiest at the moment.  To record the audio to begin with, I use a Zoom H1 digital recorder, plugged into the headphone jack via a splitter.

Here are some lessons learned so far:

It's been tempting to edit to a "final" take right away, but I've learned the hard way it's not a good idea.  For one thing, dynamics are important not only within a variation, but from one to the next.  When you amplify the takes as they are made, you can't make that comparison; the computer will amplify a "softer" track up to a level similar to the "louder" one before or after it.  While you can re-amplify the tracks when you put them all together, that will change the level of the background noise, too, which will be distracting.  So, while I'll do basic editing (cutting out the unwanted stuff) early on, adding amplification and other effects will have to wait until the whole set is done.  I had added noise removal on the recordings of several variations before I realized it was making my keyboard sound bad.  I'll re-record them.  Lesson learned.

There's a recording-studio adage that says everything that happens in a studio should be recorded.  I've found it's true.  At first, I used to record each take as a separate file, constantly getting up to start and stop the recording device.  Now, I just let it run, and if I need to go over a section slowly, or repeat something, I record that too.  Most of it will be deleted after the final take(s) is(are) done, but there's less chance of missing something good.  It's also easier to concentrate on the music.

Usually I leave some blank space before beginning to record a section, which will make it easy to find when I'm editing.  It's a test of patience; usually after messing something up I want to dive right back in and play it again.  But counting off a few blank measures in the tempo of the piece helps to keep some perspective.

A home recording can be many things, and before anything else it's a way to hear my own playing.  Does it sound the way it should?  Are the rhythms right?  What about the ornaments?  The articulations?  Do I like it at this tempo, or would it be better faster (or slower)?  While there is an understandable urge to produce something and publish it, a home recording is first and foremost a practice tool.  While I'm playing, my ear can lie to me about what I'm doing.  An unedited recording, however, comes closer to the truth.

Will you ever hear what I'm creating?  I'm not sure.  But if I don't hear it, there won't be much worth sharing.

 

The Goldberg Variations: The Project

I've had my eye on the Goldberg Variations by J. S. Bach for some time.  I have recordings of individual variations that I made in 2013, and I was working on the Quodlibet as far back as 1998.

Right now, when there's so much general craziness, and I'm staying home more than I otherwise might, is a great time to go back to them, and you're invited along for the ride.  Hopefully, the journey will be entertaining and instructive; you'll learn from some of my mistakes.

The Goldberg Variations are, among other things, a big piece; a complete performance, with repeats, takes around an hour and a half.  These days, it seems to be common to leave out one or both repeats in the Aria and some, or all, of the variations.  This is a practical move; an intermission really doesn't work with this piece, and an hour and a half is a long time to sit without a break.  If none of the repeats are taken, the piece becomes a manageable forty-five minutes long, more or less.  Getting through the whole thing is still a feat of endurance.  My athletically-inclined friends fill my social media feeds with accounts of the marathons they run and the weights they lift, and exhortations to take on big projects.  Here's mine.

A big project needs a work plan, and I'm tackling this in stages.

• Locate, and listen to, a number of recordings of the work, on piano and on harpsichord. 
• Beginning from the end, more or less, make individual recordings of each variation, and two of the Aria.  For now, I'm recording them without repeats.
• Put my recordings onto a CD and listen to the whole set several times, taking note of things such as the relative loudness of the different tracks, the effectiveness (or not) of using noise reduction and other recording technology, the relative tempos of the different variations, and so on.
• Re-record anything that seems to need it at this point, using the best-practice information from the previous step.
• At this point, there will be an end product: a CD.  But it won't be done.
• Record the variations in sets of two or three, and gradually increase the numbers of variations in each set.
  
• Eventually, play the whole thing start to finish.
• Then do the whole thing over with the repeats.  Or not.

There is considerable overlap between stages.  Right now I'm on the first two.

These are some of the results I'm hoping for:

• Better playing, especially on this keyboard
• A recording I can give to my family, friends, etc.
• Thorough knowledge of this wonderful work
• Improvements in my recording technique, especially editing with Audacity

So far, I have recordings of Variations 21-22 and 25-30, and I'm working on 23 and 24.

More news as it happens.

Decomposing

Today I did something I never expected to do. I pulled out all of my old notebooks, including compositions from my very first scribbles (I was five) all the way through my first two years of college. I went through each of them, carefully tore out most of the pages, and tore them in half. Then I delivered them to the recycle bins downstairs.

Every composer in the Western tradition, loosely speaking, writes every note with at least one eye on posterity. Even if no one other than us values our work, we have to assume that, at some point, they might. We imagine our leavings treated the way we treat those of the composers who've gone before us: diligently preserving them, eagerly searching them for clues to the development of talent and mastery, including them in beautifully printed and bound editions of the complete works.

Most of us realize, on some level, that's a fantasy. It would be, if not impossible, at least not easy, for every composer's complete output to be saved, let alone treated with any special reverence. Libraries and archives have limited capacity, and “the cloud” (i.e. other people's computers) may have other ideas about what it wants to store. In any case, it makes no promises unless it's paid to, and sometimes not even then.

Going through those notebooks has been a complex process. A small part of it has been, “Wow … I don't remember writing that; it's not bad!” A lot of it has been, “Wow … that belongs in the recycle bin!” And a lot of it has involved saying goodbye, not just to a big pile of paper with musical notation scribbled on it, but to the childhood and young adulthood during which that musical notation was put onto that paper.

A few of the pieces are tied to events, like the one I wrote when my grandfather died. A very few of the pieces were performed; a song or two, and an Easter Cantata some of my cousins kindly sang through for me one afternoon. A collection of short pieces was published; they were written with Leonard Kilmer, my piano teacher at the time, and performed at the summer music camp at the local college. I was younger than most of the kids at that camp. I also gave a talk about aleatory music there that year.

Leonard introduced me to modern techniques by way of Vincent Persichetti's harmony book. I was in junior high school, and the modal melody and quartal-secundal harmony I learned from him have been important ever since. This was the time the school orchestra performed a piece of mine, for violin and strings. Playing the solo was a thrill, a happy time in a tough stretch, and I'm grateful to the kind friends who made it happen. During that period, I wrote my first music worth keeping. A Lament for voice and piano survives in an arrangement for soprano saxophone and piano.

But a lot of the music just shows me trying, and failing, to reproduce the grand pieces I admired. It's too bad, in a way, that I didn't look at other models; today I'd suggest, for instance, that someone wanting to write a cantata take a look at one by Buxtehude (“Alles, was Ihr tut”, perhaps); someone wanting to write a piano concerto could check out the pasticcio concertos of Mozart … and begin by writing a sonata in the style of the ones he used. But in those days, I wasn't big on taking advice from anyone. To be fair, a lot of the young musicians whose work I find online fall into the same trap, trying to run before they can walk properly.

But the biggest realization during the whole process of creative destruction has been that the future I'd been imagining, the one in which my works could be gathered, treasured, and preserved, is most likely not the future to which we are headed. There are too many problems facing the human race right now, and the genesis of my musical language isn't a priority.

A few pages have been saved, for now, but the reprieve is likely temporary. After watching (and being part of) the process of cleaning up after the deaths of a number of friends, and after a number of house moves, mine and others', it's clear the choice is only whether I want to put these things into the recycle bin now, when I can do so with my own two hands, or whether I want them put there (or into the trash), by someone else. Today I'm choosing to take action on my own behalf.

End of one year, beginning of another

Recently I've been thinking a lot about this blog, and what I'm hoping to accomplish.  Ultimately it's about you: if what you find here doesn't make your life better in some way, what's the point?  How can I make it easier for you to find what you are looking for, and make use of what you find?  I'm posting about my experiences, but hoping you'll find some value, even if only to shake your head at my pratfalls.

So, what has this year been for me, musically speaking?

This has been a year to reconsider and re-evaluate.  What am I doing?  Why?

I didn't play in public often in 2018.  The vast majority of my music-making has been at home, or in small gatherings.  Right now, that's for the best.

This year I've been working on chorale preludes by Telemann, various organ pieces by Pachelbel, a sonatina by Clementi (Op. 36, No. 3 in C Major), a suite by Buxtehude (F Major), and so on.  This was also a year full of The Well-Tempered Clavier, book I; I've been working on memorizing the first several preludes and fugues (numbers 1-3 basically done, 4-6 in progress).  Underlying all of this has been a re-examination of technique.  It's been about thinking, and listening, as much as playing.

I've been going, slowly, through Clara Bell's translation of Philipp Spitta's biography of Bach, and matching his descriptions, where possible, with the pieces they're about.  While Spitta's opinions can't always be accepted without question, this three-volume set (formerly bound as two) does cover a large number of composers and pieces, and, in the age of the internet, you can hear most of them pretty easily, on YouTube, SoundCloud, or elsewhere.  This makes a great introduction (or re-introduction, if you already knew some music history) to some fine music, the people who made it, and the times and places they lived.  It's also a way to approach questions of what makes good music, and what makes music good.  Spitta doesn't hide his opinions, and even disagreeing with him is a learning experience.  He's dated, of course; comparing his work with more recent writing is part of the experience.

Composing?  2018 was a pretty dry year.  A goal for 2019 is to write more.

But the biggest goal for 2019?  Finding my way again, figuratively speaking.  Right now I feel lost.

Wishing you and those you care about health, happiness, and success for the coming year.

Seventy Solos for the Hammond Organ or Reed Organ

I'm a big fan of anthologies, especially older ones.  They almost always have worthwhile things I haven't heard of, and even if the music doesn't turn out to be particularly exciting, there are things to learn.  An anthology speaks to the historical moment when it was made, to the taste of the compiler(s), performers and audiences of the time.

Seventy Solos for the Hammond Organ or Reed Organ, compiled by Frederic Archer and published by G. Schirmer in 1944, is worth browsing.   The Hammond Organ, as its Wikipedia entry makes clear, got a much higher profile for its use in jazz and popular music than it did in the Classical world, yet from this anthology it's clear that, at the same time as Ethel Smith and others were using the instrument in popular genres and styles, the Hammond Organ was still being thought of as a cheaper alternative to a pipe organ.  Apparently many churches agreed; thousands bought them.

Many of the composers represented are familiar: J. S. Bach, Beethoven, Clementi, Gounod, Delibes, Lully (here spelled "Lulli"), Mendelssohn, Mozart, Paradisi (Paradies), Reinecke, Rossini, Schubert and Spohr are all included.  A fair number of these are transcriptions.  The Clementi piece, "Andante con espressione", is from the Sonatina in F Major, Op. 36, No. 4, originally for piano.  The anthology doesn't announce the fact.  Beethoven is represented by an "Adagio", which is a brief excerpt from the "Adagio molto" of Piano Sonata No. 5 in C Minor, Op. 10 No. 1.  Again, no reference is made to the original.  "Andante cantabile" by Mozart is from Piano Sonata No. 10 in C Major, K. 330.  "Marche de la cloche" by Leo Delibes is from Coppelia.  If a collection like this one were published today, mention of the sources of the transcriptions would be expected.

A four-part arrangement of "Liebster Jesu, wir sind hier" by Bach carries no mention of the name of the chorale.  Again, someone who wanted to compile a similar collection today would hopefully include that information.

Other pieces in the collection are clearly marked as transcriptions, and the sources are (at least partly) identified: a chorus from William Tell by Rossini, a quartet from Woman of Samaria by W. S. Bennett, a trio from Athalie by Mendelssohn, "Funeral March" from the cantata, The Legend of St. Cecilia, and a duet from the opera, The Lady of Killarney by Julius Benedict.

August Reinhard had a particular interest in the harmonium, so while a registration for the Hammond Organ is provided, it's likely the "Marcia" here was originally a harmonium piece.

Paradisi is best known for his Toccata (from Sonata VI); the Andante in this collection is new to me.

A lot of the composers are new to me.  I hadn't heard of Théodore Salomé, L. Mourlan, J. Schlute, Gustav Merkel, J. B. Jaillet, A. Justin, Hubert Ferdinand Kufferath, William Vincent Wallace, Ignace Leybach, or several others.  J. Wanaus, represented here by the "Choeur de Pelerin", was another new name.

Louis Lefébure-Wely is the best-represented composer in the anthology, with eight different selections.  No other composer comes close.

Archer also included four of his own pieces; I wasn't able to find them on YouTube or SoundCloud.
A few other pieces of his are on IMSLP.

Here, perhaps, is a point worth remembering: keyboard instruments have always been pretty generous about sharing their repertoire.  Organ pieces can be, and have been, played on the piano, and vice versa.  When new instruments (or new versions of older instruments, depending on your view) were developed, they took over repertoire from their predecessors.  Pianists play material originally written for the harpsichord and clavichord without batting an eyelash, though not all harpsichord music works well on the piano, and harpsichord-lovers may cringe.

If you're in a situation where you need a lot of short pieces of moderate difficulty, this collection will serve.  It also contains enough pieces for many enjoyable evenings of reading through things.

Thanks to YouTube user Chris S, some of whose videos are linked above.  Want to hear more music for reed organ?  Click over to his channel.

The notes of some of Chris's videos mention earlier collections by Archer, including Reed Organ Album (1914) and Complete Method for the American Reed Organ.

Crossing Bridges: Book and Arts Fair, and starting a new piece!

An intercultural arts festival, Crossing Bridges, will take place in New York City from Saturday, May 19, 2018 through Tuesday, May 22, 2018, and I've been invited to write and perform a new piece at the opening event! The event will take place at the Brooklyn Public Library at 240 Division Ave. in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, from 11:00 AM to 6:00 PM.

I'm excited.  Events like this are a big deal for me, because there's a chance to meet so many wonderful people, and hear and read so much fine writing of all kinds.  Being invited to perform a piece of mine is icing on the cake!

This, however, requires a new piece, and that takes thought and work.  I've decided to take you along on the journey.

At an event in 2016, I presented a song I'd written, about a gardener who separates the fallen leaves (this was in fall/winter) carefully by color.  Of course, the wind comes along and mixes them up again, and the gardener thinks, "Isn't it more beautiful this way?"   The song is in Esperanto, and it's written in a mode known in Persian music as Avaaz-e Bayaat-e Isfahaan, in Azerbaijani music as Şüştər (Shushtar), and by other names in other musics of the general area.  You probably already know this mode, even if you know nothing about Central Eurasian or Middle Eastern music, because it has the familiar augmented second, much like the Western harmonic minor scale.  When anyone from the West first tries to write Middle Eastern-sounding music, this mode is the one they usually fall into.  It's probably about as intercultural as you can get.

For this event, I'd like to do something different.  I've been given a poem for inspiration, but I'm planning a keyboard piece.  The poem is called "Cruzando Puentes" ("Crossing Bridges"), and it's by Juan Navidad.  On a quick reading, the line that captures my attention is about "the most beautiful dreams" being "written from rage and injustice" (my translation).  I think I can work with that.